


Kick and Slide

by lastwingedthing



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Generation Kill
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A badass blonde military asshole walks into a bar and meets... oh wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick and Slide

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Porn Battle, to the prompts kickass, competition and unfazed. The title is from the Poe song Hey Pretty.
> 
> No, I didn't think it was possible to write three thousand words of this cracked-out crossover either!
> 
> Many thanks to K for looking this over for me.

It’s been almost nine months since full integration, but not much has changed. Not in the kind of places Brad usually finds himself, places like this run-down craphole of an Oceanside bar. Sure, there’s new tech, new threats, new strategies for dealing with them both; the corps has never changed so much so fast before. But that’s the thing. Politicians are talking out their asses, mouthing empty reassurances or screaming about the end of the world; pussy suburbanites are circle-jerking with their liberal latte-sipping friends about the sudden obsolescence of their fuel-efficient hybrids or running to church to cry to the big bad daddy in the sky.

 

Marines, on the other hand, make do. Brad’s life hasn’t changed much, not in the ways that matter. He’ll be shipping out again in a few months once he finishes this stint as an instructor, no doubt back to some Iraqi shithole to eat dust for the next six months. Some things never change, and that’s okay.

 

Some things do. It’s not like Brad’s never seen a woman in uniform at this particular bar before, far from it – though few of those look like they could have stepped right off the pages of a magazine. It’s just that this woman isn’t wearing _his _uniform. She’s fleet for sure: not wearing the patched-together hybrid the brass had come up with in an attempt to facilitate integration or even the dress blues he recognises from dozens of fuck-a-muppet, let’s all be friends television specials from back in the early days. She’s in the real deal, layers of grey and black tanks like he’d only ever seen on a handful of grainy youtube videos, and damn but this woman has balls, to come into this bar alone and dressed like that. She’s certainly acting like she’s packing more sac than Manimal – for her own sake, there better be something backing that up. Not that it’s any of Brad’s business if she doesn’t; quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s a Marine, not some do-gooder here to save the world.

 

Nate – Fick – would probably be talking enthusiastically now about internationalisation, integration, the new possibilities for global understanding opened up by the arrival of the fleet, but Brad doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. Nate’s the kind of guy who learned to share all his cookies back in kindergarten, and look where _that_ shit had gotten him.

 

Certainly not here in this bar, feeling the muggy heat of a southern California summer evening, cool water condensing off the beer in his hand as he watches the woman down shot after shot like they’re nothing but water. She knocks another back with a smirk, then slams the glass down hard.

 

“You gonna keep staring like that all night, soldier, or are you gonna come over here and do something about it?” She’s grinning as she stares right back at Brad, bright and sharp like a slice of sunlight in the room; arrogant and cocky and a little bit crazy, not to mention gorgeous as hell. Fuck it, Brad _has _been staring, and he’ll be fucked if he’s gonna back down now.

 

He looks her up and down as he walks over, taking her in slowly, deliberately.

 

“Can’t even tell the difference between a Marine and a soldier? Then again, who’d expect any different from some dickless alien POG.”

 

Brad’s still standing, towering over her, but she just laughs like she doesn’t even notice, easy and mocking.

 

“Ground-pounding knuckledraggers are ground-pounding knuckledraggers, nugget.” Then she grins again, salutes him with her drink. “Want one?”

 

Before Brad can say a word she’s ordering for him, like _he’s_ the one with the tits in this conversation. Not that Brad usually pays for drinks for women in bars – if a financial transaction is going to happen, it’s going to be the straightforward kind, cash for pussy and no unnecessary dicking around. Then again, he’s also not stupid enough to turn her down. She’s the one checking him out now, lingering looks up and down his torso that she makes no attempt to hide. Brad feels the first slow burn of arousal in his belly. Fuck it, he doesn’t want some fragile little civilian who’ll just roll over for him anyway.

 

Brad notes approvingly that she’s taking the tequila straight, no fucking around with salt and limes like your typical West Coast pussy. Body shots in a bar are for sad sorry fucks who never make it past the foreplay. When the next two shots arrive he grabs his and downs it without even looking, not taking his eyes away from her face. She licks her lips, brief flicker of tongue that makes Brad’s cock twitch, and follows suit. The burn of the tequila matches the heat growing between his legs, and from the look she’s giving him, Brad’s not the only one feeling this way.

 

He drops his glass back on the counter with a click. “Got somewhere we can go?”

 

She grins at him again, wicked. “Not one for conversation, are you?”

 

Brad smirks in answer. “Are you? I see something I want, I don’t stand around with my dick halfway out the door crying and wondering what to do about it, I fucking go out and take it.”

 

He’s rewarded with another flash of that crazy grin. “You’ve got that one right.”

 

Then she’s gone, dropping a fistful of notes on the counter and twisting towards the door. Brad follows the bright blaze of her hair out the door and into the parking lot; he’s not surprised to see her stop beside the second-biggest tricked-out bike in the place. She grabs a helmet, steps up to straddle the bike. Brad’s mouth goes dry.

 

And then she gestures behind herself, and – no. _Fuck _no, he’ll take a drink if it’s offered but there’s no way in _hell _that’s going to be happening.

 

Brad shakes his head in a short sharp no. “I don’t ride bitch.”

 

She raises her eyebrows. “Then we’re gonna have a problem, because I don’t let anyone else behind my controls.”

 

Marines make do. Brad briefly mourns the possibility of feeling the woman pressed up behind him as he drives, hot skin and sweet teasing hint of curves under her clothes, but he’ll live. Then he heads over to the other end of the parking lot, where the _biggest_ tricked-out bike in the lot is parked up against a wall.

 

She raises her eyebrows again, still laughing, when she sees him climb on and drive over. “You really think you’re gonna be able to keep up? I’m a godsdamn Viper pilot, you don’t wanna frak with me.”

 

Brad bares his teeth in answer. “Just try me. Don’t get left behind.” Of course, he doesn’t actually know where they’re going yet, but he’s Recon. Fucked if he’ll let a little problem like his lack of a destination stop him from getting what he – what they _both _want.

 

The woman leaves, speeding off at what feels like at least ninety miles an hour. Fuck, maybe she’s not kidding about the fighter pilot thing. Brad had scoffed at the idea of chicks in a cockpit back at the beginning of the year, but right now, faced with the reality right in front of him, he has to admit that it’s pretty fucking hot.

 

She’s good too, swerving around obstacles and ducking into alleys to get around traffic; but then, she doesn’t know this town like Brad does. She’s making him work for it, but Brad keeps up.

 

Turns out her place is only a couple streets away from where Brad is living, just another cheap apartment meant for short-term stay in a whole street of them. Inside, though, it’s a different story. Brad whistles, actually impressed. He’d thought Person’s old place back in Missouri was something, but not even his RTO’s prodigious talents come close to this.

 

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

 

She turns back and looks around, taking in the piles of clothes and shoes, paint tins and trash covering every available surface; then she smirks.

 

“This is nothing. You should see it after I’ve had more than a week to work.”

 

Brad shakes his head in disbelief. But at least nothing actually smells bad, and the bed in the next room is clear enough. She’s direct – well, he knows that already. He likes it.

 

And Brad can do direct too. He steps up to her; she’s so much shorter than him even in her heavy combat boots, but she stretches up to meet his mouth like it’s nothing, standing on her toes to do it. He has to admit, it’s pretty fucking hot. He fits one hand across the curve of her back to steady her, and then they’re kissing, hot and wet and sloppy right from the start. She’s rough and aggressive, biting at his mouth, trying to take control – just like Brad. He didn’t expect it, but that’s a turn-on too. He pulls her tighter against him. She’s too short for him to be able to get her leg where he wants it, but it feels good anyway, and when he starts to grind she sucks hard on his bottom lip and moans.

 

“Gonna break my neck like this,” she mutters, complaining, but she doesn’t pull away. That’s easy enough to fix, anyway. Brad lifts her and turns to face the wall, pressing her against it as she wraps her legs around his waist. He’s got his hands on her muscular ass now, two perfect handfuls, and when he slides a finger up under the hem of her tanks she groans into his mouth.

 

“Now that’s more like it,” she says, voice low and throaty, sliding over him like smoke. Brad kisses her again, sucks a path down the smooth line of her neck to feel her shiver against him.  His cock is aching inside the confines of his pants.

 

The woman bites his mouth and grinds down again. “Bed,” she breathes out, warm against his ear.

 

“Yeah,” he says, distracted. He keeps hold of her, hot weight in his arms, as he picks his way over to the bed. It’s an exercise in discipline not to stumble over any of the debris on the floor, but he makes it – he’s the Iceman, of course he fucking makes it. He’s not going to let some goddamn _paint tin_ get in the way of getting laid.

 

He lies her down on her back on the bed and starts stripping. She grins appreciatively, hands folded behind her head like she’s got nothing better to do than sit back and enjoy the show. Brad glares a little, but fuck it, he’s got nothing to be ashamed of here.

 

Though it would be nice if he wasn’t the only one doing any work. He almost says so, but by the time he’s down to the button on his pants the woman’s lifting her tanks over her head anyway, unbuttoning her own trousers and sliding them down. She’s not wearing any kind of bra he recognises, just the tight grey and black tops, and Brad groans low in his throat when he sees her breasts revealed, small and perfect. He leans down.

 

She moans under him when he traces his tongue down over her breast, arching up into it. He sucks on a nipple, just the faintest scrape of teeth, and she shivers all over, spreading her legs under him as her hands come up to grip his shoulders.

 

“Lower,” she says, in a rough voice that’s more of a groan.

 

That’s one order Brad is more than happy to follow. She gropes him on the way down, slides her hand up his thigh and squeezes lightly at his balls, and it’s Brad’s turn to shiver, dropping his head into the soft skin of her belly as he moans. She’s muscled all over, scarred like the soldier she is. It’s more like the men he occasionally fucks than the women; different, but really fucking hot.

 

When he finally gets down between her thighs she’s soft and warm there, soaking wet. He groans again at the taste as he licks into her, and she echoes him. He teases a little, light flickers of tongue barely brushing over her clit as he runs his nails down her thigh, but he’s too impatient to keep doing it for long. The noises she makes as he finally presses his tongue where she wants it are incredible.

 

Fuck, but Brad loves this: the taste of her under his tongue, the way she bucks into him, hard muscles in her thighs tensing under his hands. He keeps it up for as long as he can bear it, until she’s hot and thrashing beneath him, right on the edge. Then he feels her hands on his head, tugging at him.

 

“Frak – now, godsdamn it. I want you to frak me so hard.” Brad moans again and lifts his head to look at her, feeling spit and pussy slick on his mouth. Her eyes are blown, pupils huge as she stares down at him. And fucked if he’s not feeling the same way, dazed and stupid with sex.

 

He crawls up over her, but arousal is making him slow and clumsy; there’s no other excuse for the way he misses it when she growls impatiently – and flips him, pinning him easily to the bed. He’s stronger than her, but she knows how to press an advantage – he’d have to fight, _really _fight, to get out of the hold she has him in, and as that sinks in he feels a jolt of arousal that has him closing his eyes and bucking up, seconds away from coming.

 

“Frak me,” she says again, a low growl against his mouth. Brad’s so close just from that, from the feel of her hands pressing him down.

 

“Condom in – in my pocket.” He can barely get the words out.

 

She grins at him, showing teeth.

 

“I’ve got it.”

 

She does, too, rolling the thin stretch of rubber over his cock with practised ease. Then she’s lifting up to straddle him, sinking down with a look of bliss he knows must be echoed on his own face. It takes everything Brad has not to finish right then, but fuck it, he’s not some fifteen-year-old getting his cock in a pussy for the first time. He can do this.

 

She’s riding him hard, controlling the rhythm, getting him exactly where she wants. The angle’s not quite right for him, but that doesn’t even matter – the fact that she’s the one in control is driving him crazy in the best way. It doesn’t take long before she’s coming, hot and so tight around him, head thrown back as she shouts out her release. The moment of distraction is all he needs.

 

He gives her a moment to enjoy it, and then he’s got his hands tight around her hips, flipping her in turn until she’s the one on her back. He smirks down at her, pinning her wrists over her head with one hand as he starts to thrust in earnest. And then he has to close his eyes again as the sensation rushes over him.

 

There’s no way he’s going to last. She’s moaning under him, rocking back hard into each thrust, and then he feels her clench around him again as she cries out. It’s more than enough, and he loses control, shouting as he spills into her.

 

There’s not really room for it on the bed, but he still manages to collapse mostly beside her instead of on top. Brad can occasionally be a considerate guy, and anyway there’s nothing that ruins the afterglow like an angry woman punching you in the chest because you’ve just crushed her into the bed – for either party.

 

After a long moment he groans and stretches out, fumbling for the condom. He hesitates to just throw it into the mess on the floor; they’ll never see it again. Eventually he gives up, dropping it on the windowsill. She rolls over a little, tucking herself further under his shoulder, and laughs.

 

“I still can’t believe you still have those rubber things, I think my great-grandmother used to use them.”

 

Brad snorts, not bothering to open his eyes. “Yeah, Earth boys are primitive troglodytes still banging two rocks together to make fire. You’re just trying to cover for the fact that I just blew your mind completely.”

 

“As if you’ve ever had it that good before.” She grins, leaning up for a deep slow kiss. “Actually, I was just about to ask if all Earth guys can frak like that, but sadly I already know that the answer is no.”

 

Brad laughs in agreement.

 

They doze for a little while, curled around each other, but eventually Brad gives up. He’s just too tall for this bed. The woman wakes up as he tries to ease out from under her, going from zero to full consciousness almost instantly with a soldier’s alert wariness. He smiles reassuringly at her, and she smiles back, leaning up for a final kiss that Brad responds to eagerly.

 

Eventually he has to pull back.

 

“Not bad, soldier,” she says against his mouth; Brad starts to object – calling him an Army grunt at this point is just insulting – but then he realises that she’s grinning again, amusement in her eyes. He snorts as he turns away. He can feel her eyes on him as he starts to dress, but there’s none of the usual post-coital awkwardness. He gets the feeling that she wouldn’t care even if he walked away without another word.

 

But he can’t quite bring himself to do that. Instead, even after he’s tugged his boots on, pulled himself back together, he stays hovering in the doorway, not quite ready to leave. Then he looks back.

 

“I don’t usually bother asking this, and don’t take it the wrong way, but – what’s your name?”

 

She stares at him for a moment, and then gives him that grin again, bright and a little crazy.

 

“Captain Kara Thrace, Marine. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

 

It’s infectious; he can’t help but grin back. “Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert. Likewise.”

 

Brad’s still smiling as he finally walks out the door. He doesn’t get sentimental over one-night stands and he doesn’t do repeats, but all the same – he wouldn’t mind running into this woman again. And who knows? Maybe one day he will.


End file.
